Things Change
by LexLuthor13
Summary: Oneshot. In the aftermath of Civil War, Tony Stark and Hank Pym discuss the futureand Stark pays a visit to Steve Rogers.


**Now.**

**The SHIELD Helicarrier. Five miles over Cleveland, Ohio.**

**Tony Stark and Hank Pym.**

His hand quivers ever so slightly as it twists the lid. His other hand upturns the bottle. He inhales deeply before tossing the Zolofts in his mouth.

Swallows one. Chews through the other.

How did it come to this?

"You've got to lay off those, Hank."

"Why?" Pym frowns and wipes a strand of hair away from his eyes. "They're helping."

"Doesn't look like it," I say. "Look, I know you've got your reasons, and I'm only trying to help. But we need you here, Hank. Reed and Sue are off on sabbatical…you and I are the only ones left who know how to run things. So I'm askig you as a friend. Please put the pills away and help me."

Pym gives a short, exasperated sigh and slams the pillbox on the table. His head angles toward me, jaws tightened. Eye slightly twitching. This is Hank having a Bruce Banner moment, and doing his damndest to restrain himself.

"What is it with that?" he grumbles. "You think you know what its like to be me, Tony?"

"Hank—"

"Give it a rest," he says bitterly and turns away. Runs one hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Tony. It's just…things are a little different now, alright?" His voice sounds desperate. "Jan and I—we're working through it. And…everything was fine."

"Until?"

Hank's eyes go to the floor. When he speaks, his voice is quiet and bitter. "Until that…thing blew a hole through Bill's chest."

"That thing, Hank, was the unfortunate first attempt at our initiative. We're working out the chinks, you know. What happened to Bill is a tragedy—no one's arguing that. But you've got to get off it; otherwise we're just reliving old mistakes."

Hank looks at me.

"Things used to be a lot easier, didn't they?"

"No," I say. "I could have beaten up the Mandarin eight days a week and it wouldn't have changed anything."

"You really believe that?" Hank cocks his head.

"Yeah," I say after a pause. "We're over it, Hank. The way things were is over. We're not fighting psychopaths in the streets anymore—we're not getting our mansions blown up by insane teammates."

Hank lets it sink in for a moment. Raises his head, his jaw slacks as he finds the words.

"I miss it, is all. I miss the days when Steve and you and I, and Scott…Clint…"

"Hank—"

"Everything seemed so much easier back then," Hank trembles. He looks at his hands and shakes his head ruefully. "Didn't it? I mean…we were actually working toward something. We were trying to make the world a better place."

I perch myself on the edge of the lab table and offer a small smile. "We still are. A few criminals locked away shouldn't stand in the way of progress."

Hank turns back to me, and he doesn't look any better.

"I haven't slept in days."

"It's been a rough few days," I say. "Reed gets shot, Peter defects, and Steve's in prison. Where he belongs, if you don't mind me saying so." My eyes narrow at the mention of Steve. In about two seconds, Hank will say—

"Where he belongs? What the hell is that, Tony? You used to be friends—Jesus, wasn't it you who fished him out of that iceberg?"

My eyes narrow. "Things are different."

Hank rolls his eyes. "Says the Director of SHIELD."

I roll my eyes. Hank's giving me the same look he usually does. Steely determination, but it's rather like a house of cards. His hair is messy from a nervous tic where he's always wiping it away. His skin is flushed and he's sweating moderately. And he hasn't shaved in about five days; the stubble is at least a centimeter long.

Hank looks at me after five minutes of choosing his words.

"It's wrong," he says. "We've spent a lot of time ruining reputations, Tony. For what?"

"Those are the pills talking," I say briskly. "And I think you're wrong, Hank. For the first time in a long time, everything fits. We're building something Cap could never think of—could never allow himself to think of—and we're doing it for the people that admire us. The people we owe our lives to."

"Our lives?" Hank says, and I detect a slight cynicism.

"Yes, Hank." I feel my heart rising in my chest, and not in the good way. This conversation is approximately thirty seconds away from critical mass. "Our lives. We have a duty to protect these people. Of course, not that this resistance matters much anymore. Cap's in jail and we can push forward with the Initiative as planned. You and Reed and I came up with a list of a hundred things that had to be done, Hank. I'm pushing past the unpleasant truth of everything that's happened, and you're still hung up on feeling sorry for our friends. You're the goddamn Man of the Year, Hank, and you're going to sit here and bitch about the way I'm doing my job?"

Hank's jaw muscles stand out against the stubble, and his eyes burn.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he says. "All the Men of the Year awards don't mean anything if there's no one left to see them, Tony."

Silence.

"You're driving away all your friends." He says it bitterly, and points his finger at me. "And you don't even care."

He grabs the pillbox off the table and turns to leave.

I clench my teeth.

"You know, Hank, maybe you should think about what kind of world would allow you to go on unchecked for so long. Think about why you decided the future was more important than the past. And then ask Janet why she stills keeps you around."

He stops at the door, and his head half-turns to me.

"Y'know, the past isn't as inglorious as you think, Tony. There used to be a time when we all worked together. He respected you, Tony. You were his friend. Think about that. Or don't. Your choice."

Then he keeps walking.

**Now.**

**Ryker's Island Penitentiary.**

**Steve Rogers. Inmate 1-776.**

"Steve."

He doesn't look at me. Doesn't even raise his head. Doesn't even seem to know I'm here. Except I know better. I may not be in the armor, but I know him well enough.

"If you're wondering why we didn't put you in the Negative Zone, the President decided it would be politically unwise. Though he would be within his rights to do it."

"Then tell the President he has my thanks," Steve says, still staring at the floor.

Silence.

"You know," I say. "This was the only way."

Steve's head finally angles toward me, eyes slightly narrowed, jaw closed. It's almost a blank slate, except I know he's judging me.

"We couldn't make a martyr out of you. They would've eaten us alive."

"These things happen. Can you actually believe they thought I was going to kill you? Me." He lets out an imperceptible scoff. "Captain America."

Something inside me snaps suddenly. "Jesus, what is it with you?! Get off that sanctimonious bullshit, Steve! You think you're this great and wonderful hero, don't you? You have just as many skeletons in your closet as the rest of us. You do the PR work while the rest of us have to make the tough decisions. You think you're so damn noble standing up to registration, don't you?"

"Are you finished?" he asks plainly.

"Yes," I say shortly. "Are you going to glower at me all night or what, because if I want dirty looks I can go find the Taskmaster."

"You're a fool, Tony." Steve says it just as plainly as everything else. "This initiative of yours can't win. Criminals commit crimes, Tony. And for all your grandiose ideas and your teams…you can't win. There will still be evil men and women out there. No one has seen or heard anything from Latveria since Doom decided to blow up half of Oklahoma last month, and the Red Skull is still missing."

"What's your point?"

"That you're wasting your time with your teams and your damn talking points. Whatever happened to fighting our enemies, Tony?"

"That's irrelevant."

"I disagree," Steve says. "Ask Reed what he thinks of invading Latveria. I think he might enjoy doing it again."

"Steve—"

"The lack of humility here is shocking, Tony."

"You want to talk about humility, Steve—"

"No," he says, and finally looks at me. "I know you're a prideful man, Tony, and I know once you get your head around an idea its like pulling teeth to abandon it."

"Steve…"

"Was registration ever like that for you? Did you ever doubt what you were doing?"

I think about it.

"Yes," I say calmly. "When the Registration Act was up for vote. For a second, I was worried they were going to riot in the streets. It was just a feeling, though. I got over it when Peter decided to do the smart thing."

"The smart thing," Steve murmurs.

"I'm not going to have this discussion with you again. We have a responsibility, Steve. We're heroes, and we do our best to make sure the people are safe. Period."

"By any means necessary—is that it, Tony?"

I gather myself. "You know it is."

Steve stands and walks to the far end of the room. He rinses his hands in the sink and turns back to me.

"Then I guess you'd better get back to doing what you do best."

"What about you?"

One of his eyebrows arches. "I punched Hitler in the face. I lived through the Ardennes. I spent most of the twentieth century frozen in a block of ice, and I've survived countless attempts on my life—and I've gotten through them. I think I can handle prison."

I turn away and sigh.

"We've had our fair share of mistakes, Steve. I didn't want it to come to this, and I suspect you probably blame me for where you are now. But it was your choice to make, just as it was mine to support the law."

"Then we'll live with our respective consequences," Steve says and sits back on the bed. "And for the record, Tony?"

"Yes?"

"When I had you back there—after Vision had deactivated your armor—I could have finished it."

"Why didn't you?" He must have wanted to.

"Because despite whatever you think, I still respect you, Tony. You were never the problem. Registration was. And I'm sorry I took it out on you."

He extends one hand through the bars, meaning it to be a handshake.

I stare at it for a moment. This is…this is uncanny. Unexpected. What to do.

"No strings attached," he says.

I meet the handshake loosely as our eyes lock on each other.

"Still the patriot."

"Still the scientist."


End file.
